


Swept

by stardropdream



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: CLAMPkink, Facials, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 09:24:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Show me how much you want me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swept

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to the CLAMP kink meme and then reposted to LJ September 7, 2010.
> 
> The prompt was for a totally dominate Kamui.

  
“Bastard,” Kamui hisses, as he always does, as he shoves Fuuma up against the wall and bites at his neck, kissing and licking.   
  
Fuuma laughs, breathlessly. “Hello to you, too.”   
  
“You expose your neck like that on purpose,” Kamui growls, lapping at the beat of Fuuma’s pulse.  
  
“Well, seeing as how you always react like this when I do? Yes, it’s very much intentional.”   
  
Kamui growls again and Fuuma pretends to look properly intimidated as the vampire shoves him further up against the slab of rock.   
  
“One of these days I’ll wipe that grin off your face,” Kamui says with as much dignity and resentment as one can posses when liberating one cocky human from his pants. The keyword being cocky. Fuuma laughs, despite Kamui’s irritation at the exhalation of breath.   
  
“And where’s the fun in that?” he asks with a breathless chuckle. “Seeing you all hot and bothered just turns me on, you know.”  
  
“I know,” Kamui growls with a roll of his eyes, pulling Fuuma’s pants down slightly and pressing his hand flush up against his hardening cock. “Sick bastard.”   
  
Fuuma pretends to look properly scandalized and only looks amused. This serves to only irritate Kamui further. Fuuma laughs and wriggles closer to Kamui, hooking up his leg around Kamui’s waist and bringing him close to him, flushed up against him.   
  
“You’re very bad at undressing people,” he says cheerfully. He leaves the leg around him in a very unsubtle hint that serves only to ignite Kamui’s frustrations further. He shoves against Fuuma, but the human is persistent.   
  
“I should kill you,” Kamui says, more as an exhalation of his own stupidity than a threat—he should have killed Fuuma hundreds of times before, and after all this time the point is completely moot. And what’s worse is that Fuuma knows this.   
  
“And then where would you be? With a hard-on and no one to suck you off,” Fuuma says with that wicked grin of his, the kind he gets when he knows he’s won. He lifts his eyebrows. “Hm? Am I wrong?”  
  
Kamui says nothing but his glare speaks volumes. Fuuma chuckles, threading his gloved fingers into Kamui’s hair, palms pressed against the jut between his neck and jaw line before leaning down and kissing and tonguing the line of Kamui’s jaw and the dips of his throat.  
  
“You know,” Fuuma says quietly, breath hot against Kamui’s skin, and kisses at his jaw, “you really,” and now his neck, “give me horrible back pains,” and then back up to his jaw when he unsuccessfully tries to kiss around Kamui’s turtleneck, “since you,” he whispers against Kamui’s lips, “are so ridiculously short.”   
  
Kamui rears back, eyes narrowed as he glares up at Fuuma. “Perhaps you’re just too damn tall.”   
  
Fuuma’s grin is shit-eating and obnoxious. “Who knows?”   
  
Kamui is quite certain he has a witty retort for that, and perhaps a punch to Fuuma’s nose, but Fuuma seems to sense the immediate danger and sinks lower, biting at Kamui’s earlobe as he grinds his hips against him. The witty retort swiftly dies a painless death, and Kamui chokes on air.   
  
Fuuma continues to grind shamelessly against Kamui and Kamui growls low in his throat, his body igniting with arousal. Damn humans.   
  
“Hands off,” he commands and obediently Fuuma releases him. Kamui sinks down, using his hands to pin Fuuma’s hips against the rock. Fuuma holds his hands up in the universal sign of surrender, grinning his victory.   
  
And victorious the man is, Kamui reasons, as he spins the man away from the wall and presses up against it himself, hand going to his own belt and unsnapping it, relieving himself of the bulge in his pants. Fuuma makes an approving noise in his throat, grin relentlessly wide.   
  
“Mm, much better,” Fuuma hums, staring down at Kamui over the edge of his glasses. “Have I told you lately that you’re pretty?”  
  
Kamui tips his head back defiantly, eyes flashing gold. He doesn’t deign to answer Fuuma’s teasing but it wouldn’t matter if he did, the human was obnoxious enough as it was.   
  
“I think I have,” Fuuma says, proving that it didn’t really matter if Kamui chose to speak or not.   
  
“Make use of that mouth of yours before I punch your teeth out,” Kamui whispers, face contorted in what he hopes is resentment.  
  
Fuuma shrugs one shoulder. “Can’t take a compliment?”  
  
Kamui narrows his eyes.  
  
Fuuma holds his hands up in surrender again and slowly slinks up close to Kamui, pressing flush up against him before kneeling down, hands sliding over his chest. The shirt and the gloves prevent skin on skin contact, but it’s enough to almost make Kamui shiver. Instead, he remains stony-faced, his eyes narrowed in warning. Fuuma kneels down and settles himself in the most frustratingly unhurried manner. He’s aware, however, of the way the gloved hands push his shirt upwards and Fuuma’s mouth presses against his naval. He doesn’t look down because he knows that Fuuma’s eyes will be there, waiting to capture his gaze. So he stares upwards instead, eyes flashing gold with desire.   
  
“I don’t have all day,” he hisses at last, afraid that his voice will betray something other than resentment.   
  
“I believe we do,” Fuuma says with a laugh. “We have all the time in the world, Kamui.”  
  
Kamui opens his mouth to speak.  
  
Fuuma’s fingers curl around Kamui’s hipbones and Fuuma presses his mouth against his upper thigh, and Kamui can feel the curve of his smile as he pushes Kamui’s pants down further.  
  
“All night long,” he breathes, words hot against Kamui’s flushed skin. “You can do anything you want to me and no one will hear, and no one will even notice you’re missing. You have all the time until the sun rises, hm?”   
  
Fuuma’s words, damn him, go straight to Kamui’s cock and if not for his pride and willpower and sheer stubbornness, Kamui is fairly certain he would just lose control right there and shove Fuuma to the ground. Instead, he inhales sharply, pupils dilating. Again, he refuses to look down to Fuuma.   
  
“You seem to like that idea,” Fuuma whispers against his skin and Kamui feels his blood surge, and hears the singing of Fuuma’s own blood and breath in his ears. It’s intoxicating. Damn humans.   
  
His hand snares possessively in Fuuma’s hair and he does look down, and Fuuma looks up at him, smirking, eyebrows raised, and his glasses glinting in the near darkness.   
  
“Do I?” Kamui asks at last.  
  
“Maybe,” Fuuma says.  
  
Kamui shrugs, nonchalant despite the way his entire body is on fire, and he prides himself on the way his voice remains low, even, even as he holds Fuuma possessively— _mine._ “I suppose I would. The idea of having you is tempting enough, despite your insistence on being as obnoxious as possible. I wonder, do you know what you’ve gotten yourself into?”  
  
“How mysterious,” Fuuma drawls, hands on his thighs.  
  
Kamui pulls at Fuuma’s hair harshly, jerking the man’s head back. Fuuma looks up at him, eyebrows raised.   
  
“I’ll make you squirm, and you’ll beg me for it—because you’re just sick enough to love having me inside you,” Kamui hisses, and under normal circumstances would pale at the idea of saying these things, especially to someone like Fuuma, who would be wont to just laugh at him. But the blood is singing in his veins and his body is tense with desire and lust, and this human seems eager enough to have him, no matter how stupid that is. “I’ll fill you up. You won’t be able to move, won’t be able to walk. And all you’ll think about is how you can get more. Do you agree?”   
  
A silence falls and for a horrifying moment the lust clears and Kamui thinks that Fuuma is going to laugh or reject him. He does not allow himself to feel this for long, reassures himself that if the idiot laughs he’ll just kill him and be done with it. But Fuuma’s reaction is quite the opposite, and he stares up at Kamui with slightly widened eyes, but not recoiling, not laughing.   
  
Kamui smirks, lets his hand thread through Fuuma’s hair, stroking him. “Speechless? That’s a first.” He voice comes out in a deadly purr as he strokes Fuuma’s face and hair, “Seeing as how you can’t agree or disagree, why don’t you just show me how much you want it?”  
  
Fuuma stills says nothing, but his eyes stare him down and his head drifts closer.  
  
Kamui’s smirk does not dissolve, and he is not used to feeling so victorious with this human. “Put that mouth of yours to some good use.”   
  
Fuuma doesn’t bother to wait for more invitation, dipping his head and pressing his lips over the outline of Kamui’s cock, his breath and mouth hot and rapid. Kamui’s fingers tighten in Fuuma’s hair, tugging at his scalp, nudging him closer. Fuuma sucks in a sharp intake of breath, eyes flickering up to the vampire.   
  
His hands holding Kamui’s hipbones tighten and Fuuma closes his eyes as he passes his tongue over the precum beading at the tip of Kamui’s cock. He laps at him, passing his tongue over the slit and smirking as he worships Kamui with his mouth, licking and kissing at the feverish, sensitive skin. He breathes harshly, pushing and tethering Kamui to the rock. His glasses are fogging up. Kamui clenches his eyes shut a moment and rocks his hips forward.   
  
“Too slow,” he growls, jerking Fuuma’s head back again by the hair and watching Fuuma’s mouth fall open. He thrusts his hips again and watches his cock disappear further into Fuuma’s mouth. He bites back a moan but not before Fuuma spots the look on his face and chuckles, smirking around the cock in his mouth—and how the _fuck_ can this stupid human be so smug when he’s the one on his knees?   
  
His mouth is warm, his tongue is insistent. He sucks on Kamui and Kamui maintains only through extensive amounts of willpower. Fuuma’s tongue massages at the underside of his cock, tightens his grip, and licks at his cockhead. Kamui’s hold on his hair tightens. It’s a sort of warning, almost, as Kamui tilts Fuuma’s head back again, easing his cock further into Fuuma’s mouth, making the man take in more and more of him.   
  
“Good,” Kamui grunts despite himself and Fuuma hums slightly, face still stupidly smug as he smirks around the throbbing cock in his mouth even as Kamui thrusts his hips out again, pushing himself deeper into the human’s mouth. He’s waiting for Kamui’s face to twist in pleasure, he knows it, because Fuuma’s eyes do not leave his, bright and all too knowing behind the lenses of the foggy glasses.   
  
Fuuma bobs lower on Kamui’s cock, and squeezes Kamui’s hips and thighs, moving his hands over Kamui, as if worshipping him. He feels Fuuma relax, stare up at him, and Kamui understands the silent prompting. He hisses out a soft curse under his breath as he pushes himself further into Fuuma’s mouth, easing his way down his throat. Fuuma is still, welcoming him without resistance, save for one brief moment when he feels his throat spasm, almost gag. Fuuma betrays no difficulty on his face, however, aside from the slightest twitch of his eyes before they flare up in desire again and he finally, finally lowers his gaze, staring at Kamui’s naval as his nose brushes against the expanse of skin, Kamui’s cock deep in his throat. Fuuma swallows around his cock and it takes all Kamui’s restrain not to thrust into him with abandon.   
  
“If I didn’t know better,” Kamui hisses, almost bites his lip before stopping himself from showing such a sign of weakness, “I’d say you were made to do this to me. Look at you, human, stretched and open for me without any resistance.”   
  
Fuuma makes a noise that would have been a whimper on anyone else, but with him sounds almost like a strangled chuckle. Brown eyes stare up at him, flickering in amusement and desire.   
  
He watches Fuuma’s hand sneak down, going to fist himself, hard and straining against his own pants. Kamui delights, secretly, in smacking his hand against Fuuma’s head.   
  
“Hands off,” Kamui warms and Fuuma moans around his cock, hands pushing against his hips instead. Kamui smirks again, briefly. “Let’s see if you can get off without even touching yourself. Can’t have you entertaining yourself when you’re here for me, to show me how much you want me inside you.”   
  
The way Fuuma reacts makes Kamui suspect that the human likes being dominated, likes when Kamui gets authoritative. Perhaps more than he should have. Perhaps foolishly, so. Humans.   
  
Fuuma renews his efforts, sucking and licking at Kamui, letting Kamui thrust into him without restraint. Kamui thrusts faster and faster, stroking his fingers through Fuuma’s hair. Fuuma feels Kamui swell inside Fuuma’s mouth, loosens himself up and lets his nose brush against Kamui’s naval again as he prepares to swallow him, to suck him dry.   
  
“No,” Kamui commands, voice hushed and husky and far too revealing in those moments. He forgets to be resentful for that brief moment as he holds back his impending orgasm. “No,” he says again, pulling out of Fuuma’s mouth just as the pleasure overtakes him. “Wear it.”   
  
Fuuma cannot react, nor would he, as Kamui’s cock jerks and cum splatters over his face, across his tongue, his cheeks, his chin—some even splashing against his glasses, some curling up into his hair from a high arch. Kamui’s cock twitches as he rides the ebbs and flows of his orgasm, evidenced all over Fuuma’s face.   
  
His breathing is ragged, as Fuuma licks at his lips absently, tucking Kamui back into his pants and leaning back just slightly, staring up at him as best he can through the cum on his glasses.   
  
“That was rude,” Fuuma says matter-of-factly, now in control of his mouth again. “You didn’t even ask, Kamui.”  
  
Kamui rolls his eyes, not particularly caring.   
  
“How possessive of you, though,” Fuuma drawls, lifting one thumb to brush at a string of cum at the corner of his mouth and licking it off in a way that can only be suggestive. “And what about my turn?”  
  
“Your turn?” Kamui asks, but does not wait for an answer, wrapping his hand around Fuuma’s weeping cock and pumping him until he cums, too—which takes relatively no time, at all, so close was the human to the edge. He thrusts into Kamui’s hand as cum splashes out onto his hand.   
  
Fuuma grunts, once, and does not breathe out Kamui’s name, though he can see the name is on his lips, the way his lips part just slightly, the way his tongue clicks, flickers. Kamui pulls his sullied hand away and Fuuma rights himself, zipping up his pants and redoing his belt.   
  
“This is going to be a bitch to clean,” Fuuma states, cheerful as always, smiling.   
  
“That’s not my problem,” Kamui hisses, and drags Fuuma up for a kiss, a kiss Fuuma willingly returns, pliant and open to the vampire as Kamui lays claim to his prize.


End file.
